


stop painting flowers (and hold them instead)

by Ravenheart



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Silver wants Flint to have nice things, silver pov, the author wants them both to have nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenheart/pseuds/Ravenheart
Summary: "How big is the bed?" He asked, calculating how much space he could hope for between them. It was a dangerous thing, to conjure the mental image of them lying side by side.She seemed amused by the question. "King size bed. I'm sure you'll find it suitably spacious."Suitably tortuous, more like. What a simple way to ask to get hurt. There was probably a romcom somewhere out there involving such a scenario; too bad Silver's life wasn’t meant for happy endings.(Written for the Silverflint Summer Challenge.)
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 29
Kudos: 111
Collections: Silverflint Summer Challenge





	1. Petals

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:  
> Modern au with 'there is only one bed' trope and mutual pining. Silver is Flint's long suffering sassy PA who's been hiding a crush on his boss and friend forever.He has been successful so far.One day he has to accompany Flint on a business trip to let's say Bahamas?! and there was a booking mistake - there were booked into a honeymoon suite.And since there is a summer festival there is no chance to get another room.Things happen!
> 
> I'll admit it's mostly Silver doing the pining, but I hope y'all like it. I had fun with this wonderful prompt :)  
> Title vaguely inspired by the song Painting Flowers by All Time Low (from Alice in Wonderland)

His ears were buzzing, victims of the height, and his stomach was halfway to revolt. Flying was new to him, and nobody had warned him of the unpleasant side-effects—other than the low but very real possibility of succumbing to a horrible and inevitable death, of course, but that one was intuitive enough. Not that it mattered right now, anyway, since whatever discomfort he was experiencing was shoved aside in favor of metaphorically holding Flint's hand. It was a good thing Silver did get paid enough to deal with his shit, or he would have thrown in the towel ages ago. Handling him was a challenge on a good day, which meant that dealing with him on the eve of such a decisive meeting was basically a one-way ticket to hell.

Or the Bahamas.

Little difference, really. They were both ridiculously hot and a common destination for pirates, as far as Silver knew.

"Would you please calm down?" He eyed Flint's white knuckles, grip tight on both armrests as he glared at the tiny window. "You're going to break those if you aren't careful."

Flint turned the full force of his stare on him; Silver merely blinked. "I'm about to close the biggest deal of my entire life."

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Believe it or not, I'm aware. Part of my job description and all."

"Then how about a little sympathy?" The tone was harsh, all teeth, but it was the way his eyes softened for a second, showing just how exhausted he was behind his typical abrasive self, that gave Silver pause. 

He licked his lips, cocking his head as he considered the words Flint needed to hear. "You've had faith in this endeavor from the start. Even when people called you mad for it, said there was no real profit in sustainability and that you'd run the Hamilton company into the ground, etcetera." He put his hand lightly on Flint's shoulder and asked, "Has that changed? Are you having second thoughts about this?" He already knew the answer, obviously; he only needed to remind Flint of it.

He huffed, offended. "No. I know this will work." He ran a hand over his beard and added, "And I think Thomas and Miranda would have agreed with my vision, if not necessarily with what it took to make it come to life." Silver wasn't sure if he was referring to the endless hours and sleepless nights Flint had dedicated to the cause, or if he was alluding to less than legal means of taking advantage of the rich to achieve the results he'd been striving for. Either way, he thought it best to leave it alone.

He let his hand drop, realizing he was still touching his shoulder. "Then stop worrying and show everyone that they were fools for ever having doubted your plan."

A tick to his jaw. "You didn't trust it either."

Silver waved a hand, dispelling the notion. "I'm only a low-ranking employee. And one who started working for you with very little experience, for the record." None in the area, actually, but his resume had been embellished enough to disguise that bit, and his natural charm had made up for any lie Flint might have spotted during the interview. "My opinion hardly matters, anyway."

Flint's brow furrowed, not so much puzzled as judging. "It most definitely matters."

"Well," Silver said, heart beating a little painfully in his chest—mattering wasn't something he was used to in any realm of his life. "I may have started off as a fool,” and not a very hard-working or honorable one, “but I think we can both agree I'm long past that. I trust your judgment, even when I don't understand it. I wouldn't be sitting here next to you if that was anything but the truth." When had he stopped talking like an assistant and adopted the role of partner? When had Flint begun to allow it? _Need_ it? "The paycheck certainly helps, though," he joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

He sighed as he let go of the armrest. "I've just worked on this for too long for it to fall through." Silver knew it was more than that, though. Failure would prove sceptics right about him, prove he’d been mad all along. What was worse—it might lead Flint to believe himself unworthy of any association with the Hamilton name. He couldn't tarnish their memory, couldn't let their legacy go to waste.

"It won't," he said fiercely. In a more measured tone, he reasoned, "Surely if they were planning to back down they'd do so quietly. A meeting in Nassau?" A half-smile filled with the certainty Flint needed to see. "We've got this."

Flint inhaled deeply and nodded, temporarily appeased. He settled into his seat, making a deliberate effort to let go of the tension clinging to his shoulders.

Everything was going to go according to plan. Silver had spent hours pouring over the smallest details to ensure nothing could go wrong, and he was confident it would all go off without a hitch.

*

Of course something was wrong. Because there was no benevolent higher power and humans were but weak and wandering vessels searching for mercy in a vicious world, nothing could ever go Silver's way. He should have learned by now, and yet Flint's constant presence for the past three years had somehow led him to believe that success was a certainty.

A man was allowed to be dramatic in his own head, was he not?

He swallowed the urge to argue, knowing all too well he’d only make an enemy of the receptionist, and calmly reiterated, "Reservation under Flint. Twin room for five days." Realizing that merely repeating himself was unlikely to yield different results, he added, "I tried to get two single rooms but the woman I spoke to said you were fully booked except for a twin room, so I got that one instead."

The receptionist gave Silver the widest, most charming smile he'd ever seen. With an accent to match, she said, "I must apologize for my partner. She is new, and does not quite understand our booking system yet. We do indeed have one room available, but it is—"

"Yes, yes, the honeymoon suite." He ran his hands through his hair, thankful Flint had gone outside to take a call. "But we cannot stay there."

She frowned slightly, her lips pursing in apparent sympathy. "I _am_ sorry, but I would advise you and your partner to reconsider. With the summer festival upon us, you will not find another room anywhere. We will, of course, apply a handsome discount in compensation."

It wasn't Silver's money, so he really couldn't care less about that, but if they truly had nowhere else to go, it didn't seem like he had much of a choice in the matter either way. 

"How big is the bed?" He asked, calculating how much space he could hope for between them. It was a dangerous thing, to conjure the mental image of them lying side by side.

She seemed amused by the question. "King size bed. I'm sure you'll find it suitably spacious."

Suitably tortuous, more like. What a simple way to ask to get hurt. There was probably a romcom somewhere out there involving such a scenario; too bad Silver's life wasn’t meant for happy endings.

He was weighing his non-existent options when he was struck by an idea. "Hold on. Surely there's a couch in the room?"

Her smile faltered, gaze growing worried. "Sir, I do not think—"

A hotel of that category was bound to have a couch more comfortable than his own bed, right? Not how he'd pictured his stay in Nassau going, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "If there is one, we'll stay."

She sighed, nodding reluctantly and deciding to keep her thoughts to herself—probably a smart decision, business-wise. "I'll add a bottle of our finest rum to mitigate the inconvenience this misunderstanding has caused you."

Oh, she was _good._ Silver wanted to shake the hand of whoever had hired her and tell them she was grievously underpaid.

*

The hotel was a tasteful blend of sharp edges and expensive beach decor. It still had that trendy minimalist style that Silver didn't much care for, but there were enough natural elements to make it seem welcoming rather than cold. As they were making their way to the elevator, the porter leading with their frankly excessive luggage, Flint eyed him warily.

"What?" Silver blinked, looking away from the shell collection on display, all cream colored and arranged by size.

"You tell me. I leave you for ten minutes and you look about ready to crawl out of your skin. Was someone murdered in our room?" 

The porter arranged his features as best as he could, busying himself with the luggage and pretending he wasn't listening.

"Not exactly."

Flint's eyebrows flew to his hairline. "Promising."

"There was a mixup, but it's been handled," he said as casually as possible.

A sidelong glance, calculating. "Why do I feel like the cost of handling it wasn't monetary?"

The elevator dinged open and they headed towards their room as he explained, "Unfortunately, compromise was the only way forward. The city is swamped with tourists for the festival, so this was the only choice. We were promised compensation of some sort—"

"Will you just tell me what's wrong, Silver?"

The door opened to reveal what could only be classified as the most beautiful room he'd ever set foot in. Like falling through the looking-glass to find out how life was meant to be lived; with wealth and wonder and warmth.

With _company_.

"Shit," they whispered in unison as they stood by the entrance, eyes taking in every detail.

The wall to their left was almost entirely glass, the view from the balcony nothing short of breathtaking—both the sky and the sea were so blue that they seemed to be one. Most of the room was decorated in shades of white and beige, gaze easily drawn to the breath of color that was the magnificent bed to their right; navy blue covers, more cushions than Silver had ever owned, and red and white rose petals carefully laid out.

He turned to Flint to explain but came up short at the rather pained look in his eyes. 

"A honeymoon suite?" He hissed, halfway between incredulous and angry. A stray lock fell over his eyes as he moved, and Silver wanted to reach out and put it behind his ear.

He ignored the knife slowly pressing between his ribs and raised his hands placatingly. "Trust me, I know. But it was this or the streets." Remembering that they had company, he tipped the porter and nodded in thanks.

Attention back on Flint, he found his gaze fixed on the bed. "There are petals everywhere," he mumbled weakly. "We're going to reek of roses tomorrow."

Silver smiled tentatively, understanding the comment for the concession it was. He'd expected more of a fight, but perhaps this paled in comparison to Flint's other worries at the moment. "I can take care of it while you're in the shower." 

"See that you do that." Flint walked over to the bed, grabbing a petal between thumb and forefinger. "It is quite nice, though. If, you know, we were actually..." He trailed off awkwardly.

Silver was not going to survive the week. The Fates must have been having a field day with his tapestry.

He cleared his throat and joked, "I didn't know you were a romantic." 

He looked down at the petal in his hand as he spoke, "The truth is, I don't think I particularly care." He pressed on the petal gently with his index. "When you're lucky enough to find someone you want by your side forever, all of this," he waved at the room, "doesn't matter. It's the people that matter." He let the petal drop, watching it fall from a hundred miles away. "And the home you make together."

"Which isn't to say," Flint added, hand coming to rest on the covers, "that I wouldn't indulge in something of the sort, especially if I knew it would be well-received. There's a unique sort of satisfaction that comes from making someone else happy, isn't there?"

The wistful tone filled him with foolish thoughts. If Flint only knew how often Silver's mind included him when he allowed himself to consider the future. How much their friendship affected Silver's decisions, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. How much the concept of happiness, always shapeless and elusive, appeared to materialize when he let himself imagine Flint in his life in a more permanent and entirely less professional capacity.

"What about you?" Flint asked as he absently fidgeted with his rings, probably self-conscious at Silver's silence.

He swallowed, a teasing smile blooming to hide the longing beneath. "I don't really think about it. I'd have to find someone who'd want me forever, after all." 

_Just because you said that with a smile doesn't mean he won't see how pitiful you are._

A frown, silence drawn out for a moment too long. "You say that like it's outside the realm of possibility."

It was.

Merely a fact.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"I mean, you've met me." He shrugged, unsure how to put an end to the conversation. 

"When we first met, you told me you were a hard man not to like," Flint observed. “I don’t see how that’s changed.”

He averted his gaze, looking out the window and playing with the hem of his shirt. "It's easy to like what you don't know."

The room was quiet again, like all the air had gone out in the span of a sentence. He wanted to take it back; not because it was untrue, but because it was too real. What was Flint supposed to say to that? He didn't want pity, least of all from him.

"I know you," was his quiet reply.

It was an odd thing to hear, because it felt equally true and untrue. Silver had shown himself more openly to Flint than to anyone else, and yet there was so much he'd left undisclosed. He'd swept the floor and hidden the dirt under a rug, hoping the ugly bumps would go unnoticed until he could convince Flint—and himself—that there had never been dirt at all.

When Silver finally turned, Flint was closing the door to the bathroom.

*

Because he was nothing if not an absolute idiot at heart, Silver saved two petals—one red, one white—and placed them carefully between two pages of the sole book he'd brought on the trip. Even if they didn't mean anything, not truly, he couldn't allow himself to dispose of all the decorations without keeping something; his future self would need a token to punish himself with, a reminder of the beautiful things that simply weren't meant for him to keep.

Just as he was putting the book away, Flint came out of the shower, the faint scent of hotel shampoo enticing but unfamiliar. He schooled his features and pretended not to notice how inviting his wet hair looked, how easy it would be to shorten the distance between them and—

"That was fast," Flint said, adjusting his black tank top and making Silver curse his wardrobe choices, even if they were perfectly sensible for the oppressive heat. There was so much skin. So many freckles.

"Beg pardon?" He asked eloquently, his mind distracted by the concept of falling asleep counting those freckles, fingers tracing them lazily and finding a new pattern each night.

"The flowers are all gone," he clarified.

"Right. I went down and asked Max to take care of it." Booking mistake aside, Silver couldn't deny that they seemed very efficient.

"Max?" 

"She’s the receptionist."

"Ah." He nodded, running his fingers through his hair and sending a few drops flying to the floor. "Already on a first name basis, are you?" 

Silver caught the insinuation, more than a little confused. He was well-known for his charm, certainly, but not for his flirting. That had been chopped off along with his leg two years ago, rarely to be seen again.

He pointed at the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, opting to ignore the comment. "She also sent that. You know, to compensate for making me sleep on the couch and all."

Flint's head snapped to him at that. "The _couch?"_

A hesitant, "Yes?" He wasn't about to sleep on the floor, thank you very much.

"Nobody's sleeping on the fucking couch." The scandalized tone made Silver snort. "Especially not _that_ one." He pointed an accusatory finger at the piece of furniture in question. Silver had to admit that it was a classic case of luxury obliterating comfort. What good was a couch, however expensive and smooth to the touch, if you couldn't even lie down on it properly? 

Flint turned away from him to hang the towel on the balcony as he added, "Unless it makes you uncomfortable? I know I'm your boss, but as your friend—" 

He cut him off, "It's not my own comfort that worries me." He scratched his cheek. "Are you sure you don't mind? This was my mistake, after all."

"It wasn’t your fault." He shook his head as he came back inside. "And the bed is more than big enough for the two of us."

"Alright, then. If you really don't mind."

He could do this. He could sleep next to James Flint without giving himself away. He had mastered the art of outward indifference, so surely he could withstand one more trial.

*

"Not to burst your bubble of tranquility," Silver said as they walked, the sun long gone, the sand cool beneath their feet but the air still heavy with heat, "but we should discuss the schedule for the week."

Flint stopped to pick up a shell, and then another, sighing before he walked on and said, "If we must."

Absently tying his hair into a bun so the wind would stop messing with his curls, Silver spoke, "Meeting is tomorrow at four. I want us to go over the presentation together one more time," he categorically ignored Flint's eyeroll, knowing it was for show and he was actually grateful for Silver's thoroughness, "preferably at one at the latest so any last minute adjustments won't be literally last minute." He paused, waiting for verbal acknowledgment.

Flint handed him a shell instead, pinkish and swirly, and vaguely waved for him to continue. Silver blinked down at the object in his hand, not knowing what had prompted the silent gift—for his heart was definitely taking it as such—and momentarily lost track of his own thoughts.

Right. 

Work. 

That was the whole point of the trip. Work. Because Flint was his boss.

He closed his hand around the shell, squeezing lightly as he continued, "Remember to focus on Guthrie, and the rest will follow. She's the one who's really in charge, no matter what power play they choose to throw at you tomorrow. You'll probably have a one-on-one follow-up with her on Thursday, but that's of no immediate concern."

"Us," he corrected as he bent down yet again and grabbed a tiny pebble, running his thumb over it to get rid of the sand.

"I'm sorry?"

"Throw at _us_ ," he said. "And I don't mean it in the bullshit sense of team spirit and one-sided loyalty corporations like to demand of their employees so they'll work their asses off in exchange for a mediocre Christmas bonus." He licked his lips, looking intently at Silver. "I _do_ mean us. Your help has been pivotal not only in both procuring and persuading the necessary contacts to make this a possibility, but also—" He looked away, eyes straying towards the night sky, his features faintly bathed by the distant street lights. If Silver had been an artist, he would have spent eternity drawing that face. "—in a personal capacity. You've been there through it all, as a friend, and I want to thank you for it."

"Of course," he said firmly, unable to hold off a shy smile.

With the faint buzzing of insects in the background and the sea alive with moonlight, Silver wanted to thank Flint in return; he just wasn't sure what for.

_For everything._

He could not say it out loud.

*

Technically speaking, Silver didn't own actual pajamas. It had always seemed a bit of an odd concept to him, spending money on clothes he'd only ever sleep in, so his approach to sleepwear involved underwear and old t-shirts only. He was currently wearing a grey tank top that was stretched so thin it had stopped being suitable gym apparel and had been thus banished to the bedroom realm. It was almost beginning to flirt with rag material, but it was too comfortable to let go of just yet.

When he turned around and caught sight of Flint, however, he had the sudden urge to go to the nearest store and buy something worthier. It was stupid, really, because Flint was wearing an oversized long sleeve t-shirt that suggested they might have shared their disregard for proper pajamas, but the way the fabric hung off his right shoulder, leaving the freckled skin so casually exposed, presented an unparalleled level of appeal. He might as well have shown him a hint of ankle; Silver was about ready to either jump him or run away. Or both.

Flint's voice cut through his conundrum. "Do you have a side?" He sounded off, strained, and Silver wondered if the heat was giving him trouble. He'd have to make sure he stayed hydrated.

"Left, if you don't mind," he answered, unconsciously looking down at his leg.

"Alright."

He could hear Flint padding over to the right side, the rustle of sheets calling to him, but he couldn't make himself move, eyes still fixed on his leg, mind lost in too many useless thoughts.

_You might have had a shot, before._

Doubtful.

_Well, you certainly stand no chance now._

True.

He swallowed, the self-loathing so familiar it was almost second nature.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" Came Flint's gentle voice, and Silver looked up before he had time to mask what the words stirred in him. What he'd give for a different context, a different intent, a different body. "I promise I won't kick you in your sleep," he jested, hands smoothing the light covers that Silver would most definitely kick all the way to the floor once asleep. The room was warm enough without factoring in Flint's presence by his side—there was no way he could handle covers, too.

"Sorry, I was just thinking." He shook his head and went over to the bed, sitting down with his back to Flint to remove the prosthetic.

"What about?" He sounded genuinely curious.

He sighed, leaving the leg against the nightstand, and pulled up only the sheets, leaving the rest by his feet. The cool sensation against his too hot skin made him hum in appreciation.

Realizing Flint was still waiting for an answer, he said, "Nothing in particular, really. I just—have a lot on my mind right now, I guess.”

“Would you like me to distract you?” He offered, and damn Silver’s mind for attributing it an intention it didn’t have. Flint probably needed the distraction, too, and here Silver was pointlessly lusting after him.

He turned fully on his side as he asked, "And how do you plan to do that?" He tried to remind himself fiercely of who they were, regardless of the room and the ambience and the stupid scent of rose petals that somehow lingered. They were friends. They were colleagues, for fuck's sake. There was no plan for romantic overtures and heartfelt declarations. That was not where the night was going, and Silver would do well to remember that.

Something crossed Flint’s features for a moment, but he could not for the life of him understand what it was. “Tell me something,” Flint asked.

"Like what?"

Flint shrugged. "Anything." He bit the inside of his cheek and said, "Tell me something true."

A bit of an odd request after offering to distract someone, but Silver had to admit that it had the intended effect; he put aside his current predicament, racking his brain for a bit of himself he could give to Flint freely. 

_I know you_ , Flint had said. 

_Haven't you had enough?,_ Silver hadn't asked, and he still didn’t.

He didn't know which answer would have been worse.

Perhaps it was the relative darkness, the faint glow of the lamp light and the feeling of a soft pillow against his cheek that made words flow with sincerity. Or perhaps it was the need to give something, even if it was nothing at all. 

He went as far back as his mind allowed him to. "When I turned eighteen and had to room with three other people to make rent, I used to go to home improvement stores and furnishing stores and wander around for hours. I'd look at anything and everything, from wooden panels to cushions to fucking bathroom tiles. I pictured exactly what my home would be like if I had the money for it. I was so used to having nothing, always just enough to scrape by, and every place seemed designed to taunt me, showing me all the things I would never own.” A bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “It's shallow, isn't it? Not dreaming of love or success or even a career but just… stuff? But fuck, I wanted so much, all the time, and the world seemed so damned hell-bent on denying me." He’d always been unapologetic about his actions, unrepentant of his motivations and desires, but he _cared_ about Flint’s opinion, and to show himself plainly and be found wanting would sting more than he'd care to admit.

"Not shallow," Flint countered, head cocked in thought. "I think this world is designed to make us crave whatever we lack, whether we truly want it or not, and then keep us unsatisfied even when we get our hands on it." He scratched at his cheek, his beard beautifully highlighted by the warm light. "Or maybe that’s the system we’re immersed in, generating need where there is none and magnifying it in those who genuinely have nothing. Whatever rich buffoon denies the inherent power of money—the devastating effects of its absence—knows shit about the world in the first place." In a softer voice, he asked, "What about now? Do you still crave the same?"

He took a deep breath and half-smiled. _Tell me something true,_ he'd said. "Would you believe me if I told you I was better off daydreaming of hot tubs than the things I do now?" Which was not to say he regretted feeling, because he very much didn't. Yes, there was a certain weight to emotion, a certain ache he carried around that got louder, sharper, when Flint was around, but there was an upside to it that he wouldn't deny, not to himself. The thrill of a friendly argument; the spark of joy when making him laugh; the undeniable gift of simply being allowed to exist next to him. He may have been wanting, but he still got to have more than he had any right to expect.

"Why? You think it impossible to achieve?"

He sank further into the pillow, truly taking Flint in as he rested against the headboard, the collar of his shirt teasing Silver, his green eyes bright and beautiful. "I find the path leading to it almost as terrifying as what I'd be pursuing."


	2. Leaves

Silver opened his eyes and felt the looking-glass metaphor manifesting itself again. He was used to dreaming of ginger hair and raspy laughter, used to memorizing every second of every dream where Flint and he were what they would never be in real life. But he hadn't dreamt of Flint, and yet there he was, breathing softly next to him, his hand outstretched and only a few inches away from his own fingers. His hand twitched, the urge to stretch it and rest it on top of Flint's almost too much to bear. Was this truly what he'd become? A man longing to wake up to someone and be allowed to hold their hand? 

He forced himself to make a fist, was just about to turn away and start getting ready for the day when there was a soft knock on the door. Leg hastily back on, he got up as carefully as he could and made his way to the door, quickly putting on the sweatpants he'd left forgotten on the couch after he'd decided to sleep in his underwear like he always did.

In front of him stood a waiter with what looked like an obscene amount of food. "We didn't order room service."

"It's customary for the couple to be treated to our signature honeymoon breakfast." He eyed Silver, perhaps thinking he was carrying more bachelor blues than newlywed bliss. "Do you not want it?"

That woke him right up. "Oh, we want it," he said way too loudly. "But, um—" He hesitated, then smiled softly, playing up the doting husband. "He's still asleep, is all. He's normally an early riser, but…" he purposely trailed off, avoiding an outright lie by letting the waiter draw his own conclusions. He didn't know if Max had told the staff about the alleged honeymooners; he didn't have the energy to explain, but he didn't want to be caught in such a stupid lie, either. Better to leave things as ambiguous as possible.

"Oh," the waiter said, nodding in understanding. "Not unusual at all. We wait until the last hour of breakfast service to bring it up precisely because most couples sleep in." He opened his mouth, bit his lip for a second, then shrugged and said, "I'm sure you could come up with an incentive to get him up."

Silver had clearly committed a grievous offense in a past life to be now subjected to this. "Indeed," he answered, hoping his smile came off as suggestive rather than pained.

*

With the waiter gone, Silver was left standing in the middle of the room, unsure how to proceed. Should he wake Flint up? Let him sleep? He needed to rest before their big meeting, but breakfast would certainly not go amiss. After all, Flint was likely to be too worked up to eat later, so Silver's best bet was to force some food on him while he was too sleepy to argue.

He approached the bed with featherlight feet, still quietly marveling at the sight of Flint sprawled there, the lines of his face smooth and untroubled. Without allowing himself to overthink his actions—he'd be stuck frozen in the middle of the room until their breakfast went cold—Silver rounded the bed to Flint's side and rested his hand on his shoulder as lightly as possible.

"Hey," he whispered, bending so Flint wouldn't wake to someone looming over him.

The effect was instantaneous. His eyes fluttered open, his gaze heavy with sleep. He looked at Silver and, against what he'd have expected of someone being roused, smiled warmly at him. It was a slow, lazy smile, the kind that started at the corner of the lips and drifted to the eyes so you had no choice but to smile in return; Silver wished he could have photographed it, wondered how anyone could be treated to that smile and be convinced to ever leave Flint's bed again. 

"Hey," Flint murmured, voice like gravel and honey, as he began to stretch. 

Silver dropped his hand, stepping away as he explained, "Breakfast's here. Honeymoon edition."

Flint snorted and turned away from him, bones cracking as he full-body stretched across the bed and groaned, "This bed is really fucking comfortable, Silver."

He pointedly did not stare at Flint's exposed thighs.

Not for long, anyway.

He hummed in agreement. "Do you think they'll notice if we steal the mattress?"

"We should just stay here. Fuck the world." He sighed and turned to look at the ceiling, starfishing as he closed his eyes and said, "That's the best sleep I've had in years."

Silver's brain refused to attribute himself any credit for that statement. His heart—well, that was another matter entirely. "I—shall we eat in bed, then?" He'd been planning on going for the more platonic coffee table option, but who was he to deny Flint this?

Oh, who was he even kidding?

"Please. Let me delay my inevitable pre-meeting breakdown for as long as possible, which I fear will occur as soon as my feet hit solid ground."

"Or," Silver said as he brought the tray over and motioned Flint to scoot over, "you could forego the unnecessary panic altogether."

Flint sat up properly, helping Silver with the tray as he answered, "Tempting, but unlikely."

He rolled his eyes and sat down opposite Flint. "Suit yourself."

He started making himself tea as he asked, "Did you sleep alright?"

Truthfully, it had been the prelude to falling asleep that he'd struggled with. Too aware of their proximity, too afraid he'd accidentally seek Flint in his sleep and embarrass himself. But once he'd heard Flint fall asleep, his brain had seemingly decided to shut down. Small mercies and all that. "Like the dead, honestly."

"You're very… still, when you sleep," Flint said as he tried the jam and hummed in appreciation, making Silver stop with the toast halfway to his mouth.

"Huh?" He asked intelligently. Knowing that Flint had paid enough attention to him to point that out, especially considering Flint had fallen asleep earlier and woken later than him… He didn't know how to process that information, but his heart was having a go at it anyway.

"I mean," he cleared his throat, "I'm used to you talking and moving and never being in one place for too long." That was certainly a succinct way to describe him. "I half-expected you to be a sleepwalker. Or maybe talk in your sleep."

Silver ate his toast, thinking of how to answer. "I _do_ talk in my sleep, but usually only if I actually fall asleep during a conversation." Too late, he realized he might have just revealed a weakness. He was awfully blunt when he sleep-talked; Muldoon still wouldn't let him forget it. "Do not even think about it," he threatened, butter knife in hand.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Flint murmured into his tea, the glint in his eye contradicting his words.

*

Just like Silver had predicted, he was thoroughly unable to convince Flint to have lunch. After going over the presentation one last time, he did manage to persuade him to make use of the hot tub to ease some of the tension, so he was definitely counting it as a victory. As the hour grew closer, however, Flint grew more and more restless, and no amount of comfort or reassurance made any real difference.

Silver couldn't wait for the whole thing to be over.

*

And so came all the nonsensical posturing and niceties that both Flint and Silver hated yet excelled at. One too many minutes of flattery and pretentious jargon and just the right amount of hyperbole to get the point across without being so blatant as to cause suspicion or distrust.

In the end, a nod. Signatures and handshakes and Flint being politely grateful rather than over the fucking moon about getting the funding and support needed to finally launch his initiative full-scale. 

It was done, thank fuck.

Sure, there would be one more meeting soon, but only so Flint could go over the finer details with Guthrie before they went home; Silver wasn't worried.

Going forward, however, he _would_ bully Flint into delegating or die in the attempt. No more watching his friend lose sleep over a fucking job—not even an honorable one. As honorable as business could be, anyway. He had what he wanted, and it was time to rest. 

*

As soon as they were alone, Flint turned to him with the widest and most genuine smile he'd ever seen him wear.

"Thank you," he said, and suddenly they were hugging.

Silver brought both hands up and allowed himself to give in to the embrace. No half-hug and pat on the back nonsense. A real hug. The kind he'd been wanting to give—needing to receive—for way too long. The kind where you could feel the other person's warmth seeping into your skin and settling over your bones.

"You'd better give us both a raise after this," he whispered into Flint's neck, still not letting go.

A wet laugh, Flint's arms holding him even tighter. "This would have never happened without you."

"It would have," he countered, "but I'd like to think I made the process more pleasant," he added softly. Needing to voice the obvious, if only because Flint was prone to bouts of self-doubt in this particular regard, even amidst such a victory, Silver said, "They'd be really fucking proud of you, you know?"

He felt Flint nod against his shoulder, breath shaky and vulnerable, and Silver was hit with such a wave of protectiveness that he didn't know what to do with himself. Where was he supposed to pour all this emotion that seemed so close to spilling? How was he supposed to keep it contained?

"How do you want to celebrate?" He asked, forcing himself to loosen his hold on Flint so he'd know it was time to let go.

"Beach?" He slowly released Silver, his warmth retreating as he stepped back to look at him. "Then we could have an early dinner by the docks? I heard there's a fantastic burger joint nearby."

He couldn't help a fond smile; it was such a simple way of celebrating a long-sought accomplishment. "Don't you deserve something a bit more grand? I don't know. Eating lobster and drinking champagne while listening to Mozart in the hot tub?"

Flint burst out laughing. "You really like that hot tub, don't you?" He shook his head. "I don't care for champagne. Or Mozart, if I be honest." Then he grew serious and said, "We've been working non-stop for too fucking long. I just want us to have some peace and quiet now. Would you rather we did something else?"

 _We_. _Us._

"I wouldn't mind some sea breeze. And you'll never hear me object to food, especially when I'm not the one cooking it." 

  
  


*

The sand under their feet was hotter than it had any right to be, yet Flint walked at a leisurely pace, either too dignified to hurry up or too god-like to be bothered by the burning sensation that had Silver awkwardly skipping like a tarantella aficionado. They veered towards the least crowded spot they could find, close to the water but not so foolishly close as to be left at the mercy of the rising tide. A man could lose his flip flops if caught unaware.

Tourists aside, the beach was a vision—no picture could ever hold a candle to witnessing the clear water and off-white sand firsthand. And speaking of visions, Flint had apparently decided to challenge nature herself. Aviator glasses, ponytail, and the deep v-neck that Silver had bought him for Christmas because of how perfectly it matched his eyes. Heads turned as they walked, and Silver wanted to say, _I know, I know_. He was having a hard time not staring, and he'd had years of practice, so he could only imagine how these fellow mortals were feeling.

"Will you be going for a swim?" Flint asked as he dropped his bag and neatly placed his black towel on the sand.

"Definitely," he answered, taking off his shirt in one swift motion. "I'm still one hell of a swimmer, even one leg down."

Flint hummed as he, too, disposed of his shirt, and Silver had to hold back a sigh. Simply unfair, for the universe to bless his eyes in such a way and yet deny his other senses of everything else James Flint had to offer. 

Silver turned around, the image of freckles and taut muscle very much alive in his brain, and forced himself to focus on setting up his own towel and getting his waterproof cover on. When he finally glanced at Flint, he was already lying on his back, his head tilted towards Silver curiously.

"I thought you'd take it off."

"Nah," he said, going for light but probably missing by a mile. "People will fucking stare regardless, so I might as well be comfortable. This makes it easier to get in and out of the water." As if to prove his point, a couple walking by did a double-take, gazes blatantly fixed on the cover. Silver was torn between ignoring them and channeling his inner Medusa, but he reminded himself that he was in the Caribbean for the first time in his life and had no desire to dwell on negatives. 

He stood up, ready to let the waves smack some joy into him, and smiled down at Flint. "Make sure you put on sunscreen if you're gonna nap."

"Already did," he murmured, shooing him off. "Go be young and active elsewhere. It's annoying."

Silver just laughed and walked away, the glimmering sea calling to him like an old friend. He stood over the wet sand and let the water wash away the grains around his feet, felt himself sinking slowly until his right foot was entirely buried, pretended not to care that he didn't have a left foot to sink at all. It was fine; two years was a long time to get used to the idea.

It was not nearly long enough.

He shook himself, eager to leave self-pity behind for a while. He looked over his shoulder and saw Flint resting on his elbows, attention clearly on Silver. Self-conscious, he raised a hand and waved, then felt stupid and dropped it. Flint smiled, waving back at him and sending his heart into a frenzy in the process. He faced the sea again and wondered who was more dangerous; he definitely knew which he feared more.

He walked onwards, the waves eager and alive around him.

*

Silver had never been particularly drawn to nautical-themed anything, but he could admit that the small restaurant overlooking the ocean was quite a treat. The dark wood, the tiny ships in bottles here and there, and the repurposed barrels that now served as tables, it all created an atmosphere that almost made him wish he could tell the world to fuck off and set sail into the horizon.

They were sat at a table removed from the main section, a nook with a perfect view of the sea, the setting sun orange and wonderful, the waters reflecting the shifting palette of the sky. He sighed, content to just be in the moment.

"You really took half the beach with you, huh?" Flint asked, making Silver eye him with confusion.

"What?"

Flint reached across the table and touched a stray curl, pulling lightly at his hair and his heart in a single motion. "Think there might be a shell somewhere here." He let go slowly, his thumb brushing against Silver's cheek for a second.

_He touched me. He touched me he touched me he touched me._

Mind reeling, he grasped for something, anything, to say. "Which will make bathing all the more pleasant," he answered in what was hopefully a casual tone. There _was_ something oddly soothing about getting rid of all the salt and sand, like the dirtier he was, the cleaner he would feel after it was over. 

His looks hardly compared to the state of his thoughts, though. 

Just as a waiter was approaching their table, Flint said, "You'd better be thorough, or you're not sleeping with me tonight."

The waiter's eyes widened for a moment, then schooled his features as he introduced himself and handed them two menus before swiftly retreating.

Silver forced a laugh, hoping his blush was concealed by the dim light. "I think he mistook your meaning."

Flint grinned, unbothered by the insinuation, and now Silver really had to tell himself to avoid reading into it.

He was reading into it.

Was it Nassau? Was it the thrill of the still-fresh victory, the ink not yet dry making Flint act this way? If Silver had been with anyone else, he'd have called this a date. Would have known exactly where the night was leading. Dinner by the ocean, their own private corner, the sunset making everything vivid and vibrant, the hand casually lingering on his hair, the joke about sleeping together—Hell, he wanted to read into it, and yet he knew he shouldn't. Flint couldn't control when the sun went down, no matter how powerful he was when he had his mind set on something, and he hadn't chosen the table, either, from what Silver could tell.

 _Nobody made him touch your hair like that_.

Point.

 _He was being friendly_.

Maybe.

_Why would he ever want you?_

Ah.

Silver shook his head, looking up to find Flint staring at him over the menu. "Everything alright? We can go somewhere else if—"

"Everything's fine," he cut him off, unwilling to let his overthinking ruin their evening. Regardless of intent, it had been an undeniably perfect day, and he wanted the night to remain so. "I just—can't remember the last time things felt this fine, actually." Fuck, that was way too honest. Should he backtrack?

"I know what you mean," Flint spoke softly. "Like you're waiting for the shoe to drop."

If the metaphorical shoe was Silver misreading Flint's intentions and screwing things up, then yes, he supposed that was an accurate way of putting it. 

_If your friendship were to be ruined over this, could you truly say you were ever even friends?_

Fun thoughts with John Silver, coming right up.

He cleared his throat and said, "I guess I'm just used to finding a snake for every ladder, you know?" He remembered how happy he'd been when Flint had hired him, how elated at the prospect of having enough money to rent his own place and have his own stuff. He also recalled, with painfully perfect clarity, how life had knocked him down the second he'd thought things were getting better. New job? Check. New apartment? Check. The price? A fucking leg. Snakes and ladders indeed.

"Well," he knocked on the table with a conspiratory half-smile, "I think we've had enough snakes to last us a lifetime." He nodded at the window, at the horizon spreading wide in front of them. "Let's enjoy this ladder for a while."

*

The night hadn't witnessed a love declaration yet—not that Silver genuinely expected one—but walking back to the hotel after a wonderful meal in excellent company had him focusing on every detail his senses could catch, hoping he'd be able to keep the memory alive for a very long time.

He was absent-mindedly scrolling through his phone, humming a song he'd heard at the restaurant, when Flint came out of the bathroom, the faint hint of shampoo once again calling to Silver. He glanced over only to do a double-take at the pissed off expression he was wearing. He had nothing but sweatpants on, but seeing him angry quelled Silver's lust slightly.

"Did you run out of water or—?"

"My back is killing me," he grunted. Before Silver could crack a joke about his age, Flint turned around.

He hissed in sympathy, standing up at once and walking over to take a better look. "Did you put on sunscreen while _drunk_?" He asked in disbelief. There were uneven splotches of red all over his back and shoulders. 

"Some parts are hard to reach!" He said defensively, wincing as he faced Silver. "How the fuck am I going to sleep like this?"

Silver shook his head. "What am I, a prop? You could have asked me for help. You literally napped under the sun after doing...that," he gestured expansively, "to yourself."

"Don't lecture me on what I should have done! That's not helpful!" He crossed his arms, eye twitching.

He rolled his eyes and went in search of his bag. "You're acting like you've never been sunburnt before." He rummaged around for a moment until he found what he was looking for.

"I haven't sunbathed in years." As Silver approached, lotion in hand, he added softly, "Miranda used to be in charge of sunscreen."

The information hit Silver in the chest; it was rare for Flint to volunteer much about the old days, and this small detail seemed oddly personal. "I see." He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was about to overstep.

At his indecision, Flint nodded at his hands. "What's that?"

Silver looked down as if he'd performed a magic trick. "Aloe vera. Common treatment for sunburns." He pointedly left out the part where he'd brought it deliberately thinking of Flint, assuming his skin to be sensitive. There was no need to disclose that. "As long as you're not allergic?"

"No, no. I've used it in the past, just...not for this."

"Well, then." A shaky breath, mind anticipating what was about to unfold. "Get on the bed, face-down."

Flint gave him a sharp look, complying too fast with the request for Silver to catch what he was thinking. 

_You're being a good friend, Silver._

Probably.

 _Why did you tell him to lie down like you're about to fuck him, then?_

Well.

Silver metaphorically slapped himself, trying to leave all inappropriate thoughts aside so that he could do this very platonic thing for his very dear friend. Easy as life.

"This okay?" Flint murmured, looking over his shoulder as he sprawled out on the bed, leaving enough space for Silver to sit by his left side.

"Yeah," he croaked, busying himself with opening the bottle and looking at the label for no other reason than to delay the inevitable.

"You came prepared," Flint pointed out, his words positively unhelpful.

He merely hummed, distrustful of his own tongue. He tilted the bottle, letting a generous amount of gel fall across Flint's shoulders.

He gasped. " _Fuck_ , that's cold." 

"It should—" He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up as he said, "It should feel good." Very carefully, he began spreading the lotion, the skin red and hot to the touch. "Tell me if it hurts," he warned, adding more and making sure the contact was as light as possible.

After about thirty seconds, Flint mumbled, "It's helping." 

He couldn't help but notice he sounded… _relaxed._ He peered up at Flint's face, Silver's hands trailing down, featherlight. His eyes were half-lidded, the rise and fall of his back heavy. With something akin to wonder, Silver asked, "Are you falling asleep on me?"

The embarrassed look he got in return made him regret the question. "I'm sorry. Showers tend to knock me out, and this is… nice."

He barely kept his hands from shaking at that, his feelings fighting to surface. One could make it their life's mission, to make sure James Flint was surrounded by nice. By more than that, even.

_I could do that, if you wanted._

_If you wanted me._

Letting some emotion spill, he whispered, "Sleep, then."

Flint gave him a small, beautiful smile, and slowly shut his eyes.

Silver let himself smile in return, even if Flint couldn't see him— _because_ he couldn't see him.

When he heard his breathing even out, limbs loose and limp, Silver felt his own breath catch in his throat. Was a gift still a gift if the person wasn't aware they'd given it? Because he had just received a treasure, and he wasn't sure his hands and heart were big enough to hold it.


	3. Bloom

Silver woke to the sound of heavy thunder, wind howling ominously and sea roaring in the distance. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, then turned on his side and frowned. There was something off about the scene, but he wasn't awake enough to put his finger on it yet. Flint laid peacefully next to him, the movement of his chest steady and settled. Silver looked on, not making out much beyond Flint's silhouette and yet finding warmth washing over him at the thought of being this close to him, experiencing the intrinsic vulnerability of sleep down to his very toes.

And, like lightning, it struck him. Flint was lying on his back. On his very sunburnt, very sensitive back. He bit his lip, knowing he should try to make him turn but reluctant to wake him.

_Just go back to sleep. Stop caring. Stop caring stop caring stop caring._

He cared, though.

He swallowed, hand reaching out and coming to rest tentatively on Flint's upper arm.

"Flint," he whispered.

A huff and a shake of the head.

"Hey," he insisted, shaking him gently. "Don't sleep on your back."

A long, drawn out breath, and then, "Huh?" Head turned to him, eyes still shut.

"Don't sleep on your back," he repeated.

Flint grunted, clearly still very much asleep.

"Dammit, James. Turn over." He pulled at his arm, hoping that would get the message across.

Silence, and finally, "Kay." 

Shuffling and rustling, and suddenly he was turning, only that instead of shifting away from Silver he moved towards him. One moment there was distance between them, and the next Silver had Flint's temple resting against his shoulder, a hand existing next to his own; if he concentrated, he could feel their fingers brushing.

Flint was fast asleep, had probably not been fully awake in the first place, but Silver was more awake than he'd ever been in his entire life. He glanced down at him, his ginger hair soft and inviting, his breath warm and real. Silver's right hand burned with the need to reach out and intertwine their fingers, his left hand needing to learn the texture of his hair and immortalize it in his mind.

He needed to go back to sleep, and yet nothing seemed more unappealing right then. Why sleep, when reality had finally made itself worthier than dreaming?

He stayed awake for a long time.

It was worth it.

*

Awareness returned to him slowly. The remnants of sleep clung to his brain, the echoes of a fading dream mingling with the storm outside. He decided not to acknowledge the universe yet, not beyond the sensation of silky sheets and solid warmth.

A deep inhale, not his own but close, so close to him that he could feel it in his own chest, and Silver chased it absently, head gravitating towards it until he recognized the body next to his and was very much dragged to the present, lying in bed with a man who seemed determined to make him _want_. A scratch of beard, his shoulder burning in the best possible way, and Silver could feel his heart painting the moment in watercolor, bright and unforgettable; another postcard for him to revisit when it was all over.

A soft sigh from Flint, and then absolute stillness. The pressure on his shoulder was gone abruptly, leaving it cold despite the tropical weather. "Shit, sorry," Flint apologized, and Silver glanced down at him just in time to see him roll on his back. "Fuck!" He jumped, sitting up and glaring down at the sheets that were somehow to blame for his sunburn.

Wanting to dissipate any chance of awkwardness stirred by the sleeping arrangement, he said cheerfully, "And good morning to you, too." He sat up as well, rubbing at his left eye. "I'm guessing your back still stings like hell."

"Remind me to never go out in the sun again."

Silver huffed, nodding at the window. "That certainly won't be a problem today." Thunder boomed in agreement, making him wish he could rewind the scene and go back to Flint using his shoulder as a pillow. It would have been nice to indulge in a few quiet minutes together, even if not the type of together he would have preferred. "Let me wake up properly and we can do the aloe vera again." Without waiting for a response, he stood up and pointedly did not run to the bathroom while trying to conceal evidence of their nighttime closeness.

*

After waking up the way he had, plus a second round of applying hydrating lotion to Flint's back—this time while standing up—Silver was in a good mood. Sure, his heart was half-determined to leave his chest and chase after Flint like a lovesick cartoon, and his mind wouldn't stop prodding him into action, but he was still enjoying himself.

_You'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if you were less of a coward. Or an idiot._

Maybe.

They were sitting on the couch facing the sea, both with a book in hand and an air of contentment that Silver wouldn't have been able to put into words. Like something had clicked, settled, rearranged itself, so that his life—usually ugly and misshapen—felt _right_. He'd known Flint for three years, been friends with him for nearly two, and yet this place seemed to have unearthed another layer to their relationship that Silver didn't know how to handle. It went beyond his physical desire, beyond his need for a romantic qualifier. He felt at _home,_ in a way that a nobody like him, who'd never had one to begin with, struggled to accept. A dangerous development, an unforeseen one, and yet oddly the most natural progression in the world. Time felt malleable, and he hoped to stretch it as far as it would go.

He was well into chapter four when Flint broke the silence, his voice quiet as he suggested heading downstairs for dinner. Silver rose, book still open in his hand, and the motion sent something flying to the floor. Confused, he looked down to find one of the petals he'd put away. It lay there, red and revealing against the white rug, brighter than a neon sign. He chanced a glance at Flint, who had indeed noticed and had his eyes fixed on the petal. 

“You kept one.” Brows furrowed in confusion, gaze travelling from the petal to Silver and back.

“I like flowers,” he lied, shrugging and picking up the petal with careful fingers.

Flint raised an eyebrow, the lie transparent to him. They both knew perfectly well that Silver had no opinion on flowers as long as they didn't make him sneeze. He waited to be called out, waited for Flint to press the issue and demand to know what had driven Silver to sentimentality.

"Too bad I didn't think to keep one myself," Flint said, the floor shifting beneath Silver's feet and making him feel like an amateur sailor.

"And why would you have done that?" He asked carefully, the petal resting at the center of his palm.

"Isn't it obvious?" A pause heavier than Silver's entire existence, and then, "Why, I like flowers too."

He turned around and walked towards the door with purpose, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. Silver placed the troublesome petal back between the pages, carefully closing the book as he tried to compose himself.

Against his will, real hope began to bloom in his chest.

*

As soon as they entered their room, Silver declared, "I think it's time we tried that rum."

Flint trailed behind him, snorting as he pointed out, "I have a meeting with Guthrie tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Silver reconsidered, suggesting instead, "Just one glass? Also, how do you feel about watching a movie?"

"Sure," he agreed as he slowly began to take his shirt off, mindful of his healing skin. "Just no dramas."

"Do I look like someone who'd willingly submit themselves to the unfulfilling ordeal of fictional misery?"

Flint gave him a wide, amused look. "I guess not?"

Sure, tragedy could be cathartic, poetic, a homage to life, etcetera. Whatever. He knew there was beauty in sorrow, but he'd had more than enough of it in real life; he did not need a reminder of human cruelty and heroic despair when he was trying to escape his own.

"Pick whatever." Flint waved a dismissive hand at him. "Something seasonally appropriate? I don't know, ocean-themed."

"Does the Ocean's saga count?"

"I don't know how to answer that question."

He turned on the TV and asked, "How do you feel about pirates?"

"In terms of morality, aesthetics, or entertainment value?" Silver just blinked, pushing down the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure, let's go with pirates."

They dragged some more cushions to the couch to turn the act of lying back there into an actually enjoyable experience, and Flint poured rum into their glasses as Silver pressed play and settled with his foot under his left thigh, his knee barely brushing Flint's.

In an uncharacteristic display of stupidity—he was a very sensible man when it came to his own survival, after all—he said, "Your meeting isn't until four. Surely we can indulge in a drinking game?"

Flint eyed him, torn between judgment and amusement. "You want to get hammered on what's arguably the best alcohol you'll ever have in your life."

A pause. 

"Yes." He nodded. "That is precisely what I intend to do."

"Very well, then." 

*

Mistakes. Bottle-shaped, rum-flavored mistakes. Someone said the word _captain_ on screen, and Silver reached for his glass only to find it empty. 

"S'empty," he told Flint, shaking the glass in front of him.

"And you're drunk," he replied, taking the glass from him and placing it carefully on the coffee table.

"Not drunk," he enunciated carefully. "Buzzed."

"You left buzzed at least four captains ago." A teasing half-smile that Silver wanted to kiss off his lips.

"How are you not drunk?" He squinted at him, trying his best not to linger on said lips even though they seemed significantly closer than usual.

"Smaller sips, higher tolerance, and I stopped drinking about half an hour ago."

"Oh." He hadn't really noticed; Flint had shifted his position about ten minutes into the movie, and the warmth of his thigh against Silver's had become his focus for most of it. "Are you tired?" He saw his hand land softly on Flint's face, the faint scratch of beard comforting against his palm. "You look tired." He traced the shadows under his eyes with his thumb, absently wondering why he didn't touch Flint more often when it felt so nice. 

"A little. It's late." Flint peeled his hand off his face slowly, making Silver frown.

When the words registered, he smiled. "Old man," he aimed for mocking, but the words came out fond. That was fine. He _was_ fond of Flint. Very fond. He wondered if Flint was fond of him too. He should ask him sometime.

"What happened to respecting your elders?" Flint quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Hmm?" He blinked, trying to recall what they were talking about. He stared at Flint's mouth, hoping the image would stir his memory of the conversation, but it didn't help at all. It was quite distracting, actually.

Flint cleared his throat, making Silver snap out of it and meet his gaze. "We should get some rest," he whispered.

He closed his eyes, letting Flint's voice wash over him. He wanted to fall asleep to that voice, wanted to hear him murmur against his ear and card his fingers through his hair until his eyes were so heavy that sleep was inevitable. 

"I didn't mean right here, John," he said, tone laced with amusement and— _John._

_Say it again_. _Say it again say it again say it again._

Silver swallowed and nodded, opening his eyes and beginning to stand. Too late, he remembered he'd taken off the prosthetic to watch the movie. Huh. Perhaps he _was_ a bit drunk.

Flint caught his arm, then offered his own so Silver could choose to hold on or let go. Too gone to care, he said, "Help me to the bed?"

He nodded, changing their positions and establishing contact in more places than Silver's brain could track. He could have stayed that way for hours, their bodies warm and solid against each other. Too quickly, they reached Silver's side of the bed. 

_Let go_ , he told himself, but his hand remained firmly attached to Flint's shoulder. 

He turned, clearing his throat to thank him, but the words died on his lips when he realized just how close their faces were. He could appreciate Flint's light eyelashes, an old scar on his cheek, the gentle curve of his lips. His breath caught in his throat, mind rushing with a million thoughts, but only one that mattered. His eyes refused to stray, and suddenly his fingers were digging into Flint's shoulders, erratic but purposeful—

Flint took a step back, coughing a little too loudly as he announced, "I'm going to get you some water."

He sat down automatically as he murmured a weak thank you and proceeded to get under the covers. They'd been about to—He'd been about to—

_Shit._

He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself it could be easily played off as one drink too many. No harm no foul, right?

_He turned away. He turned away he turned away he turned away._


	4. Hold

Flint was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before, Silver's idiocy washed away like an uncollected shell, so he was simply following his lead. There was no need to acknowledge something that hadn't actually happened, was there? 

That was what he was telling himself, anyway.

With Flint off to see Guthrie and no idea when he'd return, Silver decided to take a painkiller or three to stop the hangover that was clinging to his temples and go out exploring. He'd barely scratched the surface of what Nassau had to offer.

He went down to the beach, walking in the opposite direction they had chosen on their first day. About ten minutes into his wandering, his hand started itching with the stupid need to pick up shells, a part of his traitorous mind telling him to find a nice one he could give Flint in return. 

_We're not thinking about him, remember? This is a Flint-free environment._

But that was a lie; no matter where he was, Flint never seemed to escape Silver's awareness. 

Shaking his head, he sat down and grabbed a broken shell nearby. He idly began tracing lines on the sand, letting the sea breeze mess with his curls as he wrote his name to be scrubbed away by the upcoming tide. Even with the wind picking up, the heat was a permanent layer on his skin, the beads of sweat down his forehead suggesting he'd do well to either dive into the water or find proper shade. Neither being a viable option at the moment, Silver stood up and cupped some water, refreshing his face and head and accidentally tasting sea salt in the process. He'd never pictured himself living somewhere near the ocean, and yet once again the moment carried an undeniable sense of familiarity; as if he'd been bound to the waters in a past life and the sea had never quite forgotten him.

She was probably the only one.

*

The room was quiet when Silver made it back to the hotel well into the evening. Couch and balcony empty, he turned to the right to find Flint face-down in the middle of the bed.

"Not sleeping," came his muffled voice.

He truly hadn't considered worrying about the meeting, but he could now feel unease rising faster than the tide. "Everything okay?" He asked carefully as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Flint turned his head to the right, his left cheek pressed firmly against the covers. "I might be having a mild existential crisis." He could have been commenting on the weather.

"Did the meeting not go well?" His mind was already scrambling for ways to persuade Miss Guthrie to reconsider, his eyes looking for the bottle of rum and weighing whether he should hide it or hand it over.

"On the contrary." He sighed. "I would not wish to ever make an enemy out of her, but I believe she agrees with me enough to find me palatable."

"Okay, I'm lost. Why are we having a crisis if Guthrie likes us?"

"Because," he rose, coming to sit across from him and bumping their knees together, "I don't know where to go from here."

He frowned, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. He licked his lips and guessed, "Because you've reached your goal?"

"Yes." He carded his fingers roughly through his hair. "What am I supposed to do now? The past couple of years have all centered around this one moment, and now it's done."

"Remember when you told me that life is designed to keep us unsatisfied?" He raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, this is me telling you to know better. You know the company will most definitely require your attention going forward. This victory is ours, and thus we should celebrate it, but it's not like we're going to sit back and retire." He hesitated, then added, "And for the record, I would personally not object to the latter. I could think of worse fates than a well-deserved early retirement where I find myself idling in the Bahamas buying you homemade pineapple jam while you nap under the sun and wear proper amounts of sunscreen."

Flint eyed him curiously. "You bought me pineapple jam?"

"I'll admit my speech was not particularly inspired, but is that really all you got from it?"

A fond huff. “I heard you. And you’re right, I suppose. It’s just hard to get used to the idea of not spending every waking hour obsessing over the future.”

"Is that truly what you think you've been obsessing over? The future?" He gave him a dubious look.

"I don't know what you mean." He shifted, averting his gaze. Caught.

"We both know this was never about the future." He needed to tread very lightly. "And I do not think they'd want you to live in the past anymore. You have honored them, and will continue to do so, but it's time you allowed yourself to be in the present. Make that your new purpose, if you will. Just… _be._ " Silver had found freedom in erasing his past, but it was clear that Flint needed something else. It was not about forgetting; merely about knowing there could still be an after. 

They sat there quietly for a moment, Flint's frown thoughtful rather than angry. "I don't think I know how to do that." 

He placed a light hand on his forearm, making him look up. "There's plenty of time to figure it out." 

Flint nodded, hand coming to rest on top of his for a moment, the silent thank you warm and pleasant against his skin. As he let go, he cleared his throat and said, "About that pineapple jam…"

Silver smiled before he could stop himself, rolling his eyes to compensate. "You only like me because I buy you stuff," he joked as he got up and went searching for his tote bag.

It surprised a laugh out of Flint, sharp and beautiful. "That must be why, yes."

Silver grabbed the bag a little tighter, thankful that at least Flint had no way of knowing how long he'd spent looking for a gift. Or how long he'd spent trying to convince himself to _not_ buy him one.

"It's really nothing," he warned, eager to downplay the whole thing.

Flint just looked at him, waiting patiently. Way more nervous than the situation warranted, Silver got the two gifts out of the bag and placed them on the bed between them.

"If you don't like them—"

Flint raised a hand, eyes trained on the two bundles before him. He picked the smaller one, unwrapping it carefully and briefly glancing up at Silver as he said, "I love jam."

_I know. I know I know I know._

Flint cupped the jar in his hands like he was holding something of incredible value, a tiny smile playing on his lips, and Silver had to cross his arms to stop himself from doing something stupid. Again.

Jam put gently aside, Flint turned his attention to the other present. He lifted it up, looking at it from all sides as if it could truly help him guess what was inside.

"Is it food?" He asked, calculating. Silver shook his head, prompting him to try again. He scrunched his nose and guessed, "Cigars?"

"That's kind of insulting. I know you don't smoke. Why would I ever buy you that?"

"I don't know! It looked rectangular." He scratched at his cheek, then shrugged and started unwrapping the present. Box in hand and still clueless, he opened it to find six carved spoons, each handle in the shape of a different creature. 

"Wood carving is kind of a thing here, you know? Thought you might like it," he explained, apparently unable to shut up. 

Flint grabbed the parrot one, face openly delighted. "These are wonderful, Silver." His thumb brushed over the details, the beak and feathers defined but not uncomfortable to hold. "Thank you," he said softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Relief washing over him, Silver echoed his smile. Would it be odd to thank him back?

*

The balcony offered both shelter from the storm and a magnificent view of it, so they sat down to watch the ocean rage as the tropical weather made itself present. They were already ready for bed, but the rain had called to them and they'd been unable to resist just lying back to listen. He’d eyed Flint worriedly at first, seeing him rest on his back so casually, but apparently the lotion had done the trick and his skin—while still very much red—no longer bothered him.

Silver was going to miss the companionship, when they returned. He hadn't realized how much he longed to have someone in his life with whom to share the simpler things. He didn't mind being alone, had gotten used to it a long time ago, but the world seemed a little more real and a lot less heavy when you could contemplate it with someone else.

"I wish we could stay longer," Flint tilted his head to the left, not quite looking at Silver but body shifting towards him.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Me too."

He didn't want to go back to his apartment. Back to falling asleep alone. Back to cold empty sheets in the morning, Flint's sleepy smile once again relegated to the land of dreams.

*

As they got into bed, Silver thanked the universe—or Flint—for allowing his act of drunken stupidity to go by unacknowledged. Sure, a part of him wanted to know what Flint had made of it, wanted to know what he was thinking about now. Had anything changed in his mind? Had he brushed it off as inconsequential? Meaningless? If the tables had been turned, he would have probably had the scene on repeat in his head, going over every detail and trying to dissect and examine every motion. But for all that he knew Flint, this was unexplored territory—

"Silver." He addressed him as one would a spooked animal, and he immediately realized he'd counted his blessings too soon.

A sidelong look, "Yes?"

Flint turned fully to him, deliberately getting closer, and Silver had to bite back a curse. Flint fidgeted with his rings for a moment before asking, "Why did you keep the rose petal?"

Oh. They were having the full conversation, then. Not just the night before, not just an almost kiss. They were going to address this—whatever this happened to be. "I wanted to have something to remember our success here," he said, like the coward he was. 

"Right." A pause, eyes searching. Silver fought the childish urge to hide behind his curls. "Last night, I thought you were going to…" He trailed off, either because he couldn't voice it or because he wanted Silver to say it instead.

He was bound to be disappointed. "Honestly, I don't remember much after the first half of the movie. I may have gone slightly overboard with the rum."

Silence.

Eventually, a sigh and a shake of the head. Squinting at Silver, he asked, "Why are you lying?"

"I'm not—"

"I know you," he cut him off, voice low. "Not as much as I'd like to, but certainly more than you think."

Suddenly feeling defensive, he countered. "If you knew me as well as you claim, then you wouldn't have to ask," he bit out, eyes fixed on the sheets he was unconsciously clinging to.

"I'm not trying to argue with you." A tentative hand on his arm, the point of contact burning quicker than the summer sun.

"Then what are you trying to do?" His voice was shaky to his own ears, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him. 

"I'm trying to—" He stopped himself, a frustrated noise making Silver finally meet his eye. "If you hadn't been drunk last night, I would have—" Flint's eyes traveled to his lips. "But, see, for all that I know you, some things must be said out loud. And you've never said anything."

"Neither have you," he breathed out, the situation starting to dawn on him with the warmth of a thousand suns.

Flint dipped his chin, the beginning of a shy smile blooming before Silver's eyes. He raised his right hand, taking hold of one of his curls as he murmured, "I've been trying."

_Oh._

Silver let go of the sheets and leaned forward, lips not quite touching but invitation clear. Emboldened by the revelation, he said, "Try again?"

Flint mirrored the movement, his lips brushing against his for a second before he asked, "Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, Silver surged forward, lips finally meeting and tension melting away into something infinitely more delightful. Too happy to contain it, he felt himself smile into the kiss, his hands slowly making their way to Flint's hair. He sighed, content, and pressed their foreheads together.

"Been wanting to do that for a while now," Flint murmured, eyes closed.

"Before coming here?" He really didn't want it to be a 'what happens in Nassau stays in Nassau' situation.

He opened his eyes, drawing back a little as he said, "Long before that." 

He nodded. "So when we get back…?"

Flint frowned. "I kind of assumed we were both going for long term here. Is that not—?"

"Absolutely!" He interrupted, then cleared his throat and added, "Only needed to be certain."

Flint grinned, forehead coming to rest on Silver's shoulder. "So we actually get to share this bed properly before leaving?" He trailed a few kisses up his neck until he found his lips once more.

Silver pulled gently at his lower lip, body searching for contact almost unconsciously. He straddled Flint, Silver's hands coming to rest on his shoulders while Flint's found his waist. Time became inconsequential; they traded kisses and touches and, above all, smiles. As Flint took a deep breath, Silver allowed himself to let his fingers wander and trace the freckles on his right shoulder.

"I love these," he whispered, smiling like a fool. "Want to find every last one."

"Might take you a while." Flint kissed his temple, Silver's eyes falling shut at the sensation. 

"It's a good thing we have time, then." Left hand coming up to trace Flint's jaw, he asked, "What do you want to do tonight?" He had two years worth of ideas, and yet right then he just needed to be close to Flint, uncaring of the how.

Flint licked his already wet lips, looking at Silver with bright eyes as his thumbs drew absent circles on his skin. With a guarded look, he asked, "Promise not to laugh?"

Taken aback by the question, he said firmly, "I wouldn't."

He nodded, biting at his lip before murmuring, "Hold me?"

The question knocked the breath right out of him, his body overwhelmed with emotion as he searched for the right answer. He had to settle for a weak, "Okay," which in no way echoed what he was truly feeling.

Flint smiled like he understood anyway, his arms embracing him and pulling him forward so they could lie down. With a final kiss that lingered and reached all the way down to Silver's toes, Flint turned around and guided Silver's left hand so it rested over his chest, fingers entwined.

"This okay?" Flint asked in a small voice.

"Perfect," Silver mumbled against his shoulder, leaving a soft kiss before resting his forehead between Flint's shoulder blades. "I kept two petals, you know?"

"What?" Voice laced with confusion.

"You saw the red petal fall out of my book, but I also kept a white one. I could give it to you, if you wanted."

Flint squeezed his hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "I'd very much like that."

If Silver's embrace tightened after that, well. It was fortunate that his arms had found someone who wanted to be held just as much as he craved to hold.


End file.
